


magnum opus

by noair



Category: Produce 101 (TV), X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Art centric, M/M, New York City, Unreliable Narrator, there's one short and sweet kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 03:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noair/pseuds/noair
Summary: seungwoo finds himself getting more and more infatuated with seungyoun- but who can stop him?





	magnum opus

**Author's Note:**

> seungwoo is an art critic and art collector! seungyoun is an artist who primarily works with paintings. a lot of the settings for this fic are real places and the artworks are all real too. i suggest that if you come across one you're not familiar with, you search it up. it gives a little insight into what happens next.
> 
> enjoy!

seungwoo decides that new york city hates him. it’s a mutual feeling, however, and seungwoo smiles delightfully at his own little joke when the wind slashes against his cheeks and forces him to stuff his hands into his coat pockets. it’s a calm day, with little to be done at work (a luxury in itself) and no errands to be done back at home. the harsh winter weather thinks otherwise, instead favouring seungwoo’s incessant bad luck as he exits the subway station and into the busy sidewalks. yes, seungwoo thinks. new york city hates him.

seungwoo thinks in art. his feelings are best summed up with a plethora of old masters, his personality a mix of impressionist works, and his language as fluid as the range of pieces that make up the post-modern contemporary era. he finds this to be one of his favourite traits about him, reminiscing about old college days, studying art history from dusk to dawn. seungwoo tends to only think in art, anyways.

the walk to the red hook district is a bit far, but he doesn’t mind. as a new yorker, one tends to succumb to the familiarity of walking after a few days of living in the city. the art studio is far from where seungwoo lives, taking the f train from downtown brooklyn in order to get to the location. seungwoo swears he might die from hypothermia before getting to the studio at the rate he’s walking, quickly speeding up from his already ‘fast’ new yorker pace. it’s times like these that seungwoo thinks maybe, just maybe, he’ll finally move out of the city.

the studio towers over the surrounding area like a sore thumb, its multiple floors polished with a combination of metals, woods, and other materials that gives it an artistic flair that can only be seen in red hook. upon previous visits to the studio, seungwoo had never taken the time to study the architecture of the building. seungwoo stops in his tracks and looks up. it is simplistically beautiful.

a gust of warm air hits the man in the face when he opens the door to the building. the building is enormous, even more evident from the inside. there has to be about a hundred different rooms in the building dedicated to art, which seungwoo loves. as a self-proclaimed _patron of the arts_, there’s nothing more that excites him than the prospect of an emerging artist. in seungwoo’s eyes, there is nothing more important to an artist than the opportunity to thrive. that, he decides, is the most important piece of being an artist.

walking into a nearby elevator, seungwoo already has an idea of what he is there to do. time from time thoughts of visiting other artists cloud his thoughts, but there is a purpose to his visits. he doesn’t take time out of schedule for nothing.

there’s a small bounce in his step when the man waltzes out of the elevator, hands tugged behind his back as a slight smile crosses his lips. the studio that seungwoo wants to visit in particular is at the end of the hallway, the light coming from the door flickering softly as it has always. with a gentle nudge, the door opens and seungwoo comes in uninvited. the studio is comprised of three spacious rooms, the last room in the back the preferred workspace of resident painter and sculptor cho seungyoun. composing himself for a second, seungwoo takes a deep breath before walking towards the back room.

“oh. you’re back.” seungyoun deadpans as he stands in front of his easel, body blocked by the canvas that is turned away from the entrance. the younger man doesn’t do as much as bat an eyelid, instead hunched over the canvas with a sort of peculiarity that only an artist can manifest without it being too odd. seungwoo laughs dryly at this comment, digging into his pockets to retrieve a packet of cigarettes.

“you don’t seem surprised though. are you finally getting used to my presence?” seungwoo carefully selects the right combination of words, pausing for a second before continuing onto the next sentence. he places a cigarette in his mouth, pulling a hand that clutches a lighter dangerously close to his face before dropping it to point at the canvas in front of him. “will you finally let me see what you’re painting- or do i have to play this game with you again.” though the meaning is literal, seungwoo’s voice lilts in a gentle, playful sort of way. it’s fun to tease seungyoun.

seungyoun returns the question with silence, waving a hand from behind the easel to signify that seungwoo leave. seungwoo shrugs and instead turns his attention back to the lighter. seungyoun grimaces.

“you know you can stop trying to act like _this_ around me,” seungyoun sighs like it’s the hardest thing he has ever said. “it bothers me. my studio always smells like smoke now.”

seungwoo is partly taken aback but somehow expects the comment. with a small grin, seungwoo leans harder on the back of the easel in order to get closer to the other man. he thinks seungyoun smells faintly of the old maple trees that towered over his home as a child. “what do you mean?” seungwoo asks with feigned innocence, instead smiling more when seungyoun scoffs and turns his back to grab a new tube of paint from one of his various worn-down shelves. the cigarette still dangles loosely from seungwoo’s lips, threatening to drop at any moment.

it’s moments like this that makes seungwoo mad about seungyoun. how could such a person, so wild, so carefree, reject a man of such prominence like seungwoo? seungyoun blurs the line of their relationship with his paintbrush, crossing out the subtle mistakes and dips the dry brush into the water, emerging once more new and ready to start again. it confuses seungwoo. is he in love?

“if you’re here to ask me once again to paint you something, then i’m afraid the answer is still the same. i have too much on my plate- i have an upcoming exhibit with the brooklyn museum and you know that, seungwoo. there just isn’t much i can do.”

seungyoun returns back with a fresh set of colours and places them below the canvas. instead of going back to work, he settles in a chair adjacent to where seungwoo stands and dries off the precipitation from his forehead with a washcloth. seungwoo thinks he looks beautiful like that.

“well,” seungwoo starts, frustratingly turning his head to the side in order to avoid eye contact. he isn’t ashamed, necessarily. just embarrassed. “what about after the exhibit?”

seungyoun laughs. “the exhibit is next year. you’d have to wait awhile.”

seungwoo curses under his breath in korean, something that is instinctive by this point. seungyoun, so far removed from his homeland, doesn’t catch this and instead stares off into the distance beyond seungwoo’s shoulders, looking for something that is simply not there.

“god, seungyoun. you make this so hard for me… why don’t i just pay you more then? that’s what a commission is all about, isn’t it? god, i’ll pay you more than gallery price too.” seungwoo studies the dried flecks of paint that dot the other’s cheeks like multicoloured freckles. it somehow suits him.

“i’ll think about it.” seungyoun hums with closed eyes. turning in his chair, seungyoun finally stands up and goes back towards the canvas. there are no words exchanged but seungwoo gets the message. it’s his time to leave.

“this isn’t the last you’ve seen of me.” seungwoo’s smile has grown wider now, the creases at the corner of his eyes becoming prevalent as the dimples in his cheeks are now noticeable too. seungyoun responds back but seungwoo can’t hear him. the older man has already walked out of the studio with hands stuffed in his pockets and burning cheeks. there is no need for extra warmth when seungwoo exits the building. seungyoun has already given him enough.

seungwoo comes back to the studio after two weeks. most of his time is either spent at work, visiting galleries, studios, and art museums. as a famed art critic, his busy schedule is usually the least of his worries. his harsh praises and soothing criticisms have made him a famed figure in the art world, with most of his articles being published as head pieces of magazines and newspapers that plead for him to star as a guest writer. while seungwoo is thankful for this position, he can never forget the reason for his high rank. born into a family of wealth, it seemed only natural that seungwoo would grow up around art- collecting it and enjoying the presence of it. art was his life.

in his little spare time after work, seungwoo makes space for seungyoun’s new painting. of course, it is not confirmed and seungyoun has repeatedly refused to paint _anything_ for seungwoo, but the man is sure he can find a crack in seungyoun’s hard shell. seungwoo is a businessman, after all.

the empty space in the wall stares back at seungwoo. two marble statues flank the space, each one a model of the two cherubs in raphael’s _sistine madonna_ painting. whatever seungyoun paints, seungwoo is sure that it will match his set up. he just knows it.

managing to haul himself out of his apartment, seungwoo takes to the busy night streets of brooklyn and wraps a scarf around his neck. seungwoo knows the subway system like the back of his hand and decides that taking the subway at this time of the night is not worth it. instead, pulling out his phone, seungwoo calls a cab. knowing the city’s transit authority, it would have taken him twice as long to get to the studio if he had chosen the subway instead.

when he arrives, the studio is surprisingly still open. it is not exactly owned by just one person, so seungwoo understands why even in the dead of night light still protrudes from the establishment. the urge to come back had been bothering seungwoo all week, sending a shiver down his spine each time he thought of the artist. seungwoo found his infatuation with seungyoun embarrassing, bordering on childishness and immaturity. when was the last time he had been this obsessed with an emerging artist? and to think this had all came out of a simple interview for an article.

the floor in which seungyoun’s studio is on is pitch black. all the other artist vacancies are closed, but the room at the end of the hall still flickers with an insatiable flame, the light seeping through the crack in the door and into the hallway. seungwoo finds himself drawn to the room as a moth is drawn to light, taking cautious steps towards the door. usually, seungwoo would open the door without a care, knowing the usual work hours of seungyoun’s studio. yet, there is something different today that seungwoo can’t quite put his finger on.

the sounds of muffled sobs emerges from the room when seungwoo opens the unlocked door. the room is nicely lit, contrasting to the on-off flickering lights from the previous weeks. the sounds, on the other hand, come from the second room. though the door to the next room is closed, the sounds are still coherent and clear.

with hands hovering above the doorknob, seungwoo stops himself. was it even moral for him to be here? after all, he was technically trespassing. he had known seungyoun for awhile but their relationship was ambiguous- he was not sure what seungyoun still thought of him.

with an unmotivated shake of the head, seungwoo pushes open the door with little force and is met with the sight of seungyoun crouched on the floor, crying. his hair is disheveled, art materials strewn about the floor, and his face is buried into his hands. it appears that the younger has not heard of seungwoo’s arrival as he continues to sob. it’s a piteous sight to see. seungwoo can not bear to be a bystander any longer.

seungwoo vigorously goes to kneel down beside seungyoun, gently placing a hand on his shoulder to pull him closer. seungwoo feels the shock penetrate seungyoun’s body as he tenses up and quickly pushes the older man away. the hands that once covered seungyoun’s face are now gone from their original position, instead turning to point at seungwoo with an accusatory stance.

“you- what the fuck are you doing here?” seungyoun seethes, cheeks flushed and eyes burning. the man in front of seungwoo looks so _vulnerable_, something he has never seen before. “get out, god, please get out_!_” seungyoun moans, throwing his hands back to cover his face, ashamed at being seen in such a state. “please…” he pleads once more, voice betraying him under the stress he was in. “could you just leave?” the last comment is almost inaudible, seungyoun’s voice growing softer and softer as time goes on.

seungwoo feels horrible. everything has happened so fast with little time to comprehend. though his heart wants him to betray seungyoun and stay, seungwoo is not a man who is led by his heart. instead, seungwoo silently nods to himself. after all, seungyoun is right.

seungwoo quickly leaves the studio, casting quick glances behind his shoulder to see if seungyoun is still there. without any fanfare, the door quickly closes when seungwoo exits the room. and now, seungwoo knows something for sure. the omnipresent desire for a work of art grows stronger within him. he had to have a piece from seungyoun.

there’s a certain way the art world revolves. it’s a widely known fact that during the early winter and late fall, the art world becomes agitated with unrest. falling in line with the cold winter air, seungwoo finds himself working longer and longer, cooped up in his office on the seventh floor of the artforum building. though he does not necessarily mind the extra work, there is just something about it that bothers seungwoo. he can’t think straight, stumbling over words and analysis that should come easy to him. it does not help that thoughts of the event from last month still linger in his mind.

currently, seungwoo is working on a review of damien hirst’s new sculpture: _mother and child divided_. it’s an intricate piece, created with the corpses of two cows which were then suspended in a toxic formaldehyde solution. seungwoo absolutely hates it, but cannot deny that it is unique. upon deeper analysis of the sculpture, seungwoo finds that it is laced with religious symbolism and harsh realities of death. he can’t help but laugh. it was all disgusting, really.

reading over the last few paragraphs of his review, seungwoo’s phone suddenly buzzes relentlessly in his back pocket. at work, seungwoo usually has enough self-control to resist the temptation of checking his device every few minutes- but the office is empty now and seungwoo no longer has a standard to uphold. the phone rings again.

seungwoo doesn’t bat an eyelid at his phone. the caller id is not one he recognises, nor has a contact for. as much as he wants to decline the call, seungwoo gives in. it’s a friday afternoon, what would it be without a little risk involved?

“hello?” seungwoo says without much care, propping his right ankle on his knee as he fiddles with the pencil stuck between his fingers. there’s a long, strenuous pause on the other end, but quickly a voice speaks up.

“seungwoo, i need you here.” the voice is unmistakable- a voice that seungwoo has longed to hear for quite a while now. seungwoo immediately sits up in his seat, clutching the phone closer to his ear as if he cannot fathom that seungyoun has actually called him and is talking to him at this very moment. “i…” there’s another slight pause. “i really hate to beg. i’m not going to say it a second time.”

there’s nothing that seungwoo can do to stop the harsh beating in his chest. what could seungwoo do but accept the invitation? he had no interest in declining and even the most clueless man could have seen that. seungwoo was so desperate by this point.

“do you miss me that much already?” seungwoo masks his schoolboy nervousness with excessive charm, drawling out the last few words in an effort to sound more confident than he really is. seungyoun groans on the other end of the line.

“just come over soon. you’re annoying me.”

for the first time in his life, seungwoo enters seungyoun’s studio with actual permission. this is somewhat surprising to him, but he takes the gesture as a friendly one and enters with a newfound confidence. the studio somehow seems smaller than usual, but is probably the effect of new painting materials strewn about the place, stacked into multiple piles alongside windows, doors, and walls. old paint cans store paintbrushes while worn out paint brushes serve as a man-made rack to dry other materials. it’s a detail of the studio that seungwoo had written in his assessment of seungyoun’s art. he loves it.

seungwoo finds seungyoun splayed across a couch in the back room. the couch was not there before, instead having come from the second room that served as the separator between the first and last. seungwoo sits down next to the artist silently, careful not to do anything that might jeopardize their relationship further more. surprisingly, it’s seungyoun who finally speaks up.

“took you long enough,” he sighs, combing a hand through his hair. “i have something to show you. since you seem to be such a know-it-all about art, i was wondering what your opinion would be on _this_.” seungyoun smiles at his own latter sentence, quickly wiping off the grin when he sits up from the couch and moves towards the other side of the room. in the corner sits the old easel, covered partly by a blank white cloth. with one swift, graceful movement, seungyoun’s slender fingers pull apart the cloth to reveal the portrait of a man. yet, there is something off about it. his face and most of his body are smeared with deep gashes of thick, red paint. the face is completely covered while the rest is a grotesque mess- a sad excuse for a portrait painting.

“this is, well, _was_ my main piece for the brooklyn museum exhibit.” seungyoun mentions this so casually that seungwoo thinks he might throw up. “what can i say? i hated it. every time i tried to make it better, i ended up hating it even more than i did before. i was never satisfied with my work and even now i still feel unsatisfied. is it wrong for me to think like this? i think all artists are never satisfied with their own work. it comes with the profession.” seungyoun is rambling now, his head spinning in his circles as he desperately tries to grasp onto any rational thought left in his mind. “and you_! _you’re an art critic. what right do you have to say that one’s art is good or bad- don’t people say that art is subjective?” seungyoun presses a finger into seungwoo’s chest and leans down. “i think it’s horrible. art critics like you cannot even make up their mind on simplistic things like _this_.” seungyoun gestures to the other.

almost subconsciously, seungwoo places a hand around seungyoun’s waist and pulls him in closer. in theory, seungyoun is right. he always is. yet, the words that he spouts are utter nonsense and seungyoun knows it himself too. instead, the younger man lets his eyes flutter shut and waits for the moment. seungwoo blinks for a few seconds. craning his neck to reach seungyoun, seungwoo stands up and gives into a soft kiss. it’s short and sweet, but seungyoun craves more and pulls seungwoo’s face back, smearing some of the undried paint from his previous work onto seungwoo’s cheek.

“do you always act like this around handsome, rich men?” seungwoo finally manages to get out after the two have separated. he’s a bit out of breath with fully flushed cheeks. the red colour has spread down his neck and even to the tips of his ears. seungyoun covers his mouth with the back of his hand, a bit surprised at his own actions.

“you really don’t know how to shut up, don’t you?” he replies, mouth perked up. seungwoo laughs.

“but you’re not denying i’m handsome? i’ll take the compliment.”

seungwoo wakes up on another part of brooklyn that is not his to call home. light shines through the windows and overflows the floor, something that seungwoo frankly abhors. a slight turn to the left confirms seungwoo’s suspicions when he sees seungyoun sleeping soundly next to him, clutching the pillow he sleeps on with the same nature as a child would that it pains seungwoo’s heart to see. seungwoo doesn’t remember much from last night (or at least _chooses_ to pretend he doesn’t), but can pull out vague details from the back of his memory of stumbling into a cab at some ungodly hour and arriving at seungyoun’s apartment. it’s a decently sized studio apartment with one room. it’s nothing compared to the spacious two bedroom apartment that seungwoo has, but it has its own charm.

seungwoo looks down at his lover (lover? the word doesn’t taste right in his mouth) with a sort of infatuation that is only found in the eyes of a man too deep in love to be helped. but what can seungwoo do? there is nothing to be done about it. he loves seungyoun, he has decided.

reaching out to brush a piece of hair away from seungyoun’s face, seungwoo’s fingers lightly graze his cheek. his skin is undeniably soft and seungwoo can’t help but not resist the temptation to pinch the younger’s cheeks. like a child, seungwoo is amazed that seungyoun can look so _cute_, especially for someone as uptight as he is. seungyoun slowly wakes up, taking his time to rub at his eyes and grumble something under his breath. when he finally sees seungwoo sitting next to him, shirtless, there is some primal instinct that is awaken in seungyoun. how had he let this happen?

in a split second, seungyoun’s peaceful expression is replaced with one of scorn and hate. “what the fuck? what are you doing here-“ the event is almost a mirror of that late night when seungwoo had entered seungyoun’s studio uninvited. there is an uncanny resemblance. “get out- just, get out_!_” seungyoun’s words carry a hard punch, but the man makes no effort to get seungwoo out of the bed. his voice flits between annoyed and infatuated, but seungyoun cannot make himself move. seungwoo will have to do it himself.

but this time seungwoo understands. he has known seungyoun long enough to understand.

seungwoo takes his time to get ready, putting on the dress suit he had worn to work the day before. there isn’t much to say, so the two say nothing. there seems to be a mutual understanding between the two, however. seungyoun is grateful for this.

months pass. winter passes by slowly and spring becomes a welcoming sight to the art world. though not as busy as the previous seasons, spring signifies the slowing down of the market and in return, time to prepare for the next autumn. seungwoo’s success continued in the form of more work, with articles being churned out almost automatically. feeling more robotic than human, seungwoo finds himself wanting to escape. though he lives in one of the biggest cities in the world, it’s hard not to feel alone. there aren’t many people that seungwoo truly speaks to- says the words that he believes in outside his art criticisms. the temptation of calling seungyoun grows stronger during these times, but seungwoo knows it is not his place to call him. love takes time.

after the review of damien hirst’s sculpture, various different museums had reached out and offered jobs in distant countries or other populous cities. seungwoo loved new york, though. it would take something indescribable to tear him away from the city.

when seungwoo is out on a coffee break, he gets a phone call. though there is still no contact name on the phone number, he recognises the caller id almost immediately. of course, seungwoo muses, only a man so hopelessly in love would do something as trivial as memorise the number of someone who did not love them back.

instead of answering the call, seungwoo does the unthinkable. he lets his phone go to voicemail and waits. after the ringing stops, there is no follow up call. seungwoo thinks he has ruined his one chance of happiness, but, to his own enjoyment, finds that seungyoun has instead left a voicemail. holding the phone up to his ear, seungwoo listens.

“look, seungwoo. i’m going to make this quick because every second i waste calling you is another second i could be working. try not to get too excited when you hear this but... i’ll do your commission. don’t even bother paying me, i- i don’t need it. just consider it reimbursement. my only request is that you don’t interfere with me at all during this process. it’s something that’s important to me.” seungyoun hums for a bit before speaking up again. “also you owe me a date. i better see you at blue bottle coffee next week at three pm sharp. don’t make me wait.”

and just like that, seungwoo’s day becomes better. he even considers it one of his most productive work days. when seungwoo gets home and checks his email, he puts all his job offers into the trash. there’s no need for them now.

seungwoo arrives late to the café. though he had made sure to apply for one of his vacation days on the day of the date, there was still much to be done outside of work. when he finally arrives, seungyoun is sitting at one of the outside tables, talking to a passing pedestrian. seungwoo watches from a distance how he interacts with them, showcasing a full, bright smile and cheerful personality. this is definitely an exact opposite from the seungyoun he knows, but what can he say? whichever one was the _real_ seungyoun was not his to say.

“and there’s the man of the hour.” seungyoun exclaims, folded hands becoming undone. “i was afraid you didn’t get my voicemail… but then again, it’s you we’re talking about.” seungyoun stifles a small laugh and hurriedly disguises it as a cough. “i’m sorry for being so abrupt. let’s talk about logistics, shall we?”

“of course.” seungwoo smiles out of courtesy, not because he wants to. there is a fleeting feeling in his stomach that makes him nauseous. why was he feeling this way? perhaps the time gap had taken a toll on seungwoo’s behaviour. this was not how he usually felt.

“well, i’d like to thank you for the commission price. i feel as if that is too much for what i am offering to you.” seungyoun sighs, quickly thanking the waiter that comes out with two iced coffees. “but there are a few things i want to go over. i usually never take commissions, in fact, this is my first. i don’t take requests usually but i will paint something that i hope you’ll enjoy. if not, then i’m sorry, but there’s not much i can do about it. all i ask is that you don’t disturb me during this process. you can do that, can’t you?”

seungwoo turns his attention to the pigeons that flocked around the sidewalk in an effort to steal a piece of bread that a child had dropped from their hands. “yeah,” he murmurs, one cheek resting in his palm. “who do you think i am, seungyoun?” he laughs spitefully.

“you’re han seungwoo.” seungyoun states this like it is not so obvious, but quickly goes back to his original spiel. “it should probably be done soon. to be honest, i was working on it long before i called you. i’ve felt... _inspired_ lately.”

“oh? have you finally recovered from your so-called artist’s block? truth be told, i don’t think those things exist. one simply just does not have the motivation- it is not creativity that is the problem.” upon hearing more about the art process, seungwoo perks up. this conversation was more of his style, the reason why he had fallen for seungyoun in the first place.

“yes… i suppose you could say that. previously, my muse had been one that caused me a great deal of pain. though i have reconciled my relationship with them i… i find it hard to maintain. like a garden that constantly needs pruning, every single decision i make feels like it might affect my relationship with them. it’s hard- do you understand?”

seungwoo nods. he feels the same way about seungyoun. “i understand. i know someone who is like that with me, too.”

seungyoun smiles. “we are on the same page then. i’m glad.”

there is not much to talk about outside the scope of the art world, but seungwoo somehow manages to find out a bit more of seungyoun’s personal life. seungwoo learns that seungyoun can in fact speak korean, but deliberately chooses not to. “it only reminds me of bad memories,” he says and chooses to say nothing more of it. seungwoo is content with this. he is no prier.

the “date” concludes with the two shaking hands, reflecting the status of the two now. seungwoo wonders how they can go from strangers, to acquaintances, to lovers, and finally to worker and client in the span of a few months. it is something so trivial, yet so important, that it drives seungwoo crazy internally. he cannot stop the thoughts from crowding his mind.

“i’ll see you soon.” seungyoun calls out, waving to seungwoo who has turned the other way.

“of course. i hope to see you soon too.” seungwoo returns the parting with a monotonous tone but it is of no use as seungyoun has already left. for a second, seungwoo feels sad. only for a second, however.

seungwoo gets his last and final call from seungyoun on a hot summer day. the sun is scorching and the city of new york feels as if it might melt at any second. the art world has come to a full stop, taking the time to recollect itself after another hectic season. seungwoo is thankful for this momentary pause, freeing up most of his schedule in order to take leisurely strolls at nearby galleries or museum exhibits. in the guggenheim, seungwoo gets the call from seungyoun.

“yes?” seungwoo answers, hoping that no one around can hear the loud thumping in his chest.

“come over, now. it’s done.” the call ends there and seungwoo knows what to do. it’s almost instinct by now.

seungwoo enters the studio in a sort of frenzied panic. he had been anticipating the piece since autumn of the previous year, when the pair were first formally introduced. the blank space on seungwoo’s apartment wall still stood bare, waiting for another piece of artwork to claim it. now, it was finally time.

seungyoun stands at the doorway of the backroom, its doors closed to the private public. “are you ready?” he teases seungwoo who looks like a lost puppy. “you look terribly excited, don’t you?”

sparing no time, seungyoun opens the door, revealing a portrait of similar size to his old painting that had been destroyed on the day they stopped talking. the canvas is a smear of blues and blacks, all of them coming together to form an image of the virgin mary and her son, jesus christ. all of it is quite literal, seungwoo deducts, stepping closer to observe the painting in detail. though disguised with the colour palette from a distance, faint bruises litter the virgin’s arms and thighs, as well as a small bite mark below her collarbone. it’s indecent at best.

there are no words that seungwoo can use to describe the painting. in itself, it is a flaw. what else can seungwoo say? living life as an art critic had only made him more susceptible to say the truth. he hated it.

"you look scared, almost like a child." seungyoun can't help but stifle a laugh, one hand pressed gently around seungwoo's shoulder while another hovers close to his face to cover his small grin. when he feels the other tense at these words, seungyoun drops the smile and instead paints over it with furrowed brows and pursed lips. "are you truly afraid of my artwork, seungwoo? you of all people should know- you are the one who controls art. art cannot control you."

seungwoo quickly shakes his head. once again, seungyoun is right. there is no reason to be afraid.

“i must be foolish. i’m sorry for such an unfavourable response- i’ll take it home with me right away.” seungwoo smiles at seungyoun, giving his best performance. seungyoun looks delighted for once. seungwoo feels sick to his stomach. at this rate, he deserved an oscar.

“you know,” seungyoun walks over to the painting and gives it a quick look. there are still slivers of deep red that peak through the cracks of the canvas. “there is a lot of hidden meaning in this painting. i wish you could understand it- but you are the art critic, are you not? your life revolves around the meanings of artwork. you will be able to understand it, i’m sure.” but seungyoun has too much faith in seungwoo. seungwoo will not spend a single second to analyse the deeper meaning behind the work.

“yes, i’m sure…” seungwoo lies, gritting his teeth and looks a bit closer at the painting. he fails to recognise the red that runs deep beneath the painting, the same red that seungyoun had mixed months before and slathered onto the canvas in order to start anew.

when seungwoo returns home, the painting is already installed. he quickly pulls out a couple of bills from his pocket and pays the workers, thanking them for their hard work. the painting fills the rest of the room with an uncomfortable air, making it impossible to leave without staring at it for too long. seungwoo finds himself exactly like this, under its spell. there isn’t much he can do but look at it.

seungwoo spends the next hour in the living room where the painting is mounted. he is disgusted, horrified, and appalled by how seungyoun could produce such a grotesque piece of art. seungwoo suddenly starts to question the motives behind his admiration and love for seungyoun in the first place- had he truly loved seungyoun for his personality, or was it his art that attracted him the most?

getting onto his knees in front of the painting, seungwoo kneels down and clasps his hands together. he is no religious man, but still, he feels the need to do so.

“this is one huge mistake...” seungwoo mutters under his breath in his native language, finding the courage to speak korean for the first time in months. “why must i be subjected to live this cursed life? what did i do to deserve this? these artificial feelings have hurt me so much, how could i have ever done this purely on my own? i would be a masochist to enjoy the pain that has followed me through these tender days.” with one heavy sigh, seungwoo gets back up and looks at the painting one more time. he would give it a week.

seungwoo feels around his pockets and retrieves his phone. clicking on his email application, he opens the trash folder and salvages the old job offers he had trashed a couple weeks before. he is a horrible man, he decides.

seungyoun enters the studio early in the morning. though he had outfitted the studio with numerous pieces of furniture in order to act as a home away from home, there was still something about the place that made him feel unwelcome, as if he had not yet won the right to stay overnight at his own rented out studio. but perhaps it just took some getting used to. seungyoun is sure that with time, there will be more opportunities to get used to the space. seungyoun is open minded and it is something that he takes pride in. it is one of his most valued traits.

the door unlocks without a hitch and seungyoun steps inside. the studio looks the same but something seems off. cautiously, seungyoun walks into the back room. and _ah_, of course. there it was_!_ how had seungyoun not expected it sooner?

the painting of virgin mary sits across from the door, leaning against the easel it had been painted on. the painting seems to be in perfect condition, the only thing added being the small paper note that is taped to the side of the canvas. seungyoun is not sure how to react. though he knew seungwoo had hated the original painting, there was no reason to return it so soon. it had only been a week since he had first given the painting to the art critic.

snatching the letter from the canvas, seungyoun scans the contents.

_to my dearest seungyoun,_

_it is a pity that i am to talk to you in the form of handwriting, as i fear that my writing may be so messy that it is unintelligible by the time you read this. i do not know when you will get this letter, but seeing as how close my time constraints are, the sooner you receive it the better. _

_is it rude of me to say i hated your painting? it pains me to write it down, but it is true. i have only learned to tell the truth, as i grew up being told i needed to express my own opinions and not shy away from the options that i thought were right. and so, i tell you now that this painting is something i would have never expected you to produce, and frankly, was shocked to see and hear that you had managed to paint something so disgustingly beautiful. i will not lie and say i was not attracted by its flaws, but it was too much for me to take in. i simply could not analyse it as i usually do. perhaps you will be disappointed in me. i would not be offended if you were to._

_i write this to you instead of calling or even telling you in person because i am to move to england as soon as i finish writing this letter. i recently received a job invitation to work at the tate museum in london. as a dear friend of mine, i am sure you know how much this opportunity means to me. finally, i will no longer be constrained to the title of art critic but rather one of art historian. this has been such an important goal in my life that i could not pass up the chance. i am sure you will understand the rashness of this decision. i also hope that you respect it fully._

_i am sorry to end this so abruptly but my plane is to depart soon. i have asked some workers to return the painting back to your studio along with this note using the key that my old workplace gave me during our first meeting together. i suppose you may be surprised i kept it this long. i was surprised myself, i assure you._

_i must depart soon, but please, seungyoun. i want you to know that i’m not sure if i ever truly loved you. i am once again sorry to have fooled your feelings, but even i do not understand the complexity of my thoughts. the heart is just not something i am quite in touch with. _

_do not hesitate to contact me if you need help with any sort of thing. i am always happy to help an old friend. please call me whenever you have the time._

_yours truly,_

_han seungwoo._

seungyoun wept. he wept like he never had before, cried loudly without a care of who would hear him. how dare that man break his heart_!_ had this entire ordeal worth nothing to him?

with intense fury, seungyoun snatches a palette knife from the nearby shelf and begins to scrape away at the thick layer of blue, black, and finally red paint that covered the canvas. the virgin mary and her son were now gone, and instead, a lovely portrait of a man surrounded by a field of roses is displayed across the canvas. the man oddly resembles an old acquaintance of seungyoun’s. his name seems to be han seungwoo.

and now, everything came flooding back to seungyoun. the endless nights of no sleep, crying, and lack of motivation had all stemmed back to this man- seungwoo had become seungyoun’s muse without the artist even realising it himself.

taking the time to collect himself, seungyoun wipes the tears away from his eyes using the back of his hand. delicately, seungyoun lifts the canvas onto the easel and picks up the brushes that had been scattered onto the floor days prior. with no dignity left, seungyoun grasps a small detailing brush and dips it into the black paint. carefully, seungyoun inscribes his signature into the painting’s lower right hand side. the painting was almost done.

setting the brushes down, there was only one more step to be taken. seungyoun travels across the different rooms and searches tirelessly through unpacked boxes before finally emerging victorious with a simplistic kitchen knife. with shaking hands, seungyoun brings the knife back to the canvas before him. the portrait was lovely indeed, and perhaps one of the best seungyoun had ever produced. so much love and care had went into it, seungyoun was sure of it. the feelings he had were _genuine_, were seungwoo’s not?

clasping the knife with both hands, seungyoun plunges the knife through the canvas, barely missing the spot where seungwoo’s chest seems to be. breathing heavily, seungyoun watches in disbelief as the knife stays put in its original position, sticking out of the canvas and poking through the back side. finally_!_ the finishing touches of the painting were complete. now, everything felt perfect.

seungyoun laughs to himself. the painting would be the perfect centerpiece for the brooklyn museum’s exhibit.

**Author's Note:**

> you've made it to the end! i'm sorry if the ending is a bit.... ambiguous? honestly, i have a lot of thoughts about my own writing myself haha. i understand that there probably is a lot of questions about this- for example, why was seungyoun so pressed when he realised seungwoo had stayed the night at his house? 
> 
> i think something i really wanted to touch upon in this fic was the feeling of vulnerability. in the beginning, seungwoo seems really in touch with his emotions, knowing himself that he is pretty much whipped and is completely susceptible to whatever seungyoun hits him with. on the other hand, seungyoun is closed off and ashamed to even show a side of him that is soft. the roles are kind of flipped at the end. 
> 
> i tried to use the best of my art knowledge while writing this. actually, one of my favourite sculptures is damien hirst's mother and child divided. in here, i used it to explain a bit more on why seungwoo was so disgusted with seungyoun's virgin mary painting- it's the religious symbolism that turns him off. i probably should have written more about it but seungwoo hates religious symbolism. it's just not his thing.
> 
> anyways, i could ramble on about this fic for YEARS but i'll save you guys the time :) feel free to ask questions in the comments! honestly, i wrote this all in one day so there's probably a bunch of details i left out. i'd like to thank you so, so much for sticking around though. this fic was kind of a well deserved break from my other pdx101 stuff. i think lately i've been in a deep "self pity" cycle lmao. thank you once again!


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